


Transcript_76292: Winter Soldier

by lc2l, madnads



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, OFC - Freeform, POV Outsider, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 30-45 Minutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-02 07:35:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11504715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lc2l/pseuds/lc2l, https://archiveofourown.org/users/madnads/pseuds/madnads
Summary: This is Agent 76292, reporting in on the trail of Asset 0084.





	Transcript_76292: Winter Soldier

**Author's Note:**

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> [Direct Download](http://pod-together.parakaproductions.com/2017/Transcript%20WS.mp3) (~43min)  
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Is this thing on...? [thud, thud] I think it's on. Y'all should put a little red light on these things. I mean, [ahem] this is Milly - Amelia Evans, Agent ID 76292, log ID 64691. Date is 05.02.2014, time is four fifteen, I mean sixteen fifteen. I'm reporting on asset [shuffling papers] asset number 0084.

I hope I'm doing this right. I hope...I hope someone's listening. I saw all that on the news and I'm not sure what it means. No one's contacted me since but I guess you’re all pretty busy and it’s my job to track and report until you can get back to me.

Sorry, start over, this is Agent 76292 from the HYDRA street team. I am a tracking agent based in Virginia in the town of Reva. I was allocated a computer unit with short-range tracking data for all dangerous HYDRA assets, that was - oh - six years ago now. Last night I picked up my first signal

So. Okay. Mission report.

Asset 0084 entered Reva at approximately 0300 this morning. The agent was woken up by the alarm, spent five minutes trying to figure out where it was coming from and was then up and ready for duty at 0330. The signal was still reading strong so I followed it out to the edge of town. The asset is a man, approximately 6ft tall and 250 pounds. Between thirty and fifty years of age, Caucasian with dark brown hair and beard. Wearing black trousers, boots, an ill fitting tan jacket, likely stolen and a red baseball cap to hide his face.

I took photos on my cell but I only have this recorder for submitting reports, so I guess if you want them you know how to contact me.

I followed him into town where he looked over the community notice board, leaning in to read the HELP WANTEDs and the APARTMENT TO RENTs that have all been up there months. At about 0400 he went back out the way he'd come and broke the lock on ol' John's barn - I didn't get a good view on how, looked like he just grabbed it in his hand and pulled, but that was a hefty metal padlock so must've been something else there - and disappeared inside. I stayed watching for twenty minutes, but nothing came in or out so I kept my tracker computer running and went back home to find my field guide and make notes.

He emerged about lunch time - I mean at 1200. I got back into town in time to see him chatting to Josie Peters, who's had a HELP WANTED up for a few months - something about breaking down an interior wall, that none of the guys around here are interested in because she doesn't have the tools for it. Anyway, the Asset must have tools stashed somewhere because he went back with her and his bleeper has been in her place ever since.

I hope that's how these reports are supposed to be done. My field guide says I am to stay with the asset until another team relieves me of duty and provide regularly uploaded reports into his activities and actions for the duration. I've found my travel kit in case he starts moving, but my home and job are here so if you could send a team quickly, that would be awesome.

Thanks. This has been agent 76292, report ends.

****

Agent 76292, currently tracking asset 0084. Today's date is 05/06/2014, the time is [brief fumble] 2100 hours and we are in [pause] still Virginia. I think. Near the border with North Carolina. It is raining, the asset has taken shelter in an old farm building, I have assembled my field kit pop tent and discovered several leaks.

Anyway, updates from my last report. An interview with Josie Peters revealed that the asset did successfully demolish her partition wall, although she said she was making a pie at the time and couldn't say how he did it. She paid him 'a coupla bucks ana slice'a pie' and let him sleep in her guest room for the night. Said he was very polite, but didn't talk much. 'Might'a been foreign. One'a those immigrant types.'

He left town before dawn. I got woken up by the alarm going as he left the range of the sensor, and had to scramble my things together and run out to my motorbike to do circuits of the town until I picked him up again. He's still on foot, sticks out his thumb when a car drives past but so far he's only been driven once. A truck was broken down by the side of the road, he walked over to help out. I stashed my bike further down, crept up in the field on the other side of the hedge to listen in. Broken hose to the engine, the asset said, showed the man how to patch it up with gaffer tape long enough to get him to a mechanic.

Guy asked where he learned about cars, the asset said he used to fix them up all the time in the war. The guy asked which war, and the asset looked honest-to-God taken aback, like he hadn't realised there was more than one. He didn't answer the question, cause then the engine roared into life. They might have talked more on the drive, but I was busy running through the mud back to my bike to try and keep up.

It's been a few days now. Have you got a team on the way? 

****  
05/13/2014 This is agent 76292, on the trail of Asset 0084. We have stopped for the night in Bryant. It’s either Tennessee, Alabama or Georgia, it's too dark to see the map properly. According to the handbook, this device has GPS data attached to each report, but there's no clear way for me to access that so I guess you know better than I do?

Today the Asset obtained a car. It had been pulled over on the verge of the road and left, one of the tires was flat and there was a fairly heavy build up of leaves covering. It should be noted that we have passed multiple parked cars, some with no people around, but the asset had never attempted to access one before today. He checked all five doors, before smashing open a small window at the back. There was a spare tire in the trunk. No jack but that didn't seem to stop him. Somehow he lifted the entire back end of the car with one arm and then removed and replaced the wheel with the other.

This is adding to my theory that his left arm is some kind of prosthetic - although he covers it with a glove at all times, there were glints of metal at his wrist during the operation and in the heat of the day he bared his other arm and kicked off his shoes but left the left arm completely covered. How a prosthetic would enable him to lift the weight of a car, let alone hold it up consistently over at least fifteen minutes, I am yet to determine.

The vehicle is an orange '95 ford escort. Licence plate Virginia, GFB654. After he replaced the wheel he worked under the bonnet for about fifteen minutes, using the prosthetic arm to tighten bolts and check over the engine. It was difficult to tell from my vantage point if he hot wired the engine or found the keys, either way he now has a drivable vehicle.

Which is what I'd expect from a suspect of interest to HYDRA, right? He's tired of walking, so he steals a car, and that's the kind of attitude that gets people put on these lists and let's HYDRA work to make the world a better place. What I don't get is that he then drove into the next town, went into the shop and told the first man he saw that he'd found this car on the side of the road, it had needed a few fixes but clearly it belonged to someone who couldn't afford a repair so perhaps that person would appreciate it being returned.

The shop guy went out with him to look at the car, gave him the address of a possible owner and he drove straight up there. It was an elderly lady, Carrol West, she ran a little cafe on the edge of town. Her eyesight must have been failing because she kept referring to the asset - who was about twice her size in both directions - as a 'nice boy.'

She told me he bought a cup of coffee and reattached the sign over her store and she let him keep the car. I asked what they talked about, she said he didn’t leave a name but he was travelling across the country looking for a friend of his. I asked if the friend had a name, and she frowned as she thought then said, “No. No, all he said was that he was looking for someone.”

I bought a cup of coffee. I guess if he didn't have the car keys before, he does now. That was GFB654, if you have vehicle tracking data. So you can find him.

Oh, one more thing. I wasn't sure before, but now I can say he is definitely from this area. His accent was a perfect copy of the store clerk's, they could have been brothers. Maybe he gets a bit of accent drift when he goes away, but it was very clear as soon as he started talking that this is home.

*****

Agent 76292, 05/16/2014 at 1700 hours. The asset - I'll find him in a minute, I just needed - I needed to talk to someone, I guess, which sounds not so great when you realise I'm talking into a machine but still -

It's a report, I'm reporting. The town is Carlton, Alabama. We got here early hours of the morning. The asset explored briefly then broken into a deserted house to sleep. The agent considered following him inside, but stuck to her training even though her pop tent leaks like a sieve and still hasn't dried out from the rain last week. It was about 0400 hours when the sirens started, the smell of smoke coming soon after. The asset was out of the door while I was still fumbling my way out of the tent, the smoke hanging a low cloud over the horizon and coming closer. He got the car running I assumed he'd be heading away from the trouble away but then realised he was driving right in the direction of the smoke, into the heart of it. It was a big share house, workers accommodation for the farmers in the area. Lots of people, no emergency exits and the fire kept spreading.

I know my training, I followed. There was a fire truck there already, one of those rural types where the men standing around have unreeled the hose but they got four days of training six years ago and everything's running a bit slow, everyone's still in shock that there are houses burning, that they know people in the houses that are burning.

The asset’s car was empty. I registered that much before the people came running away from the buildings and my emergency training took over. Crisis management, week three of the one month field course HYDRA gave us after pulling us off the streets and before sending us out into the field. It included a solid grounding in first aid, and for the next… Hours, it must have been. Hours. I forgot my mission, forgot the asset, forgot everything except the people stumbling in ones and twos out of the smoke. I went through all the supplies in my field kit, then found the firemen bringing me more, boxes of supplies dug out of cupboards and down from attics. I was clearing airways, helping people breathe, sending onlookers to run for buckets of water and towels. Someone brought oxygen and I shared it around, calling those with cars to drive the affected away from the smoke.

I lost track of time. At some point the fire was put out, but the smoke was an endless beast coming after everything and everyone. At some point an ambulance came to pick up a mother and her child, both badly burned but alive, the mother repeating over and over that someone needed to check on ‘that man’, he'd reached right into the flames to save them and their papers, he must be hurt.

It wasn't until all the locals had been wrapped in blankets and driven to the church for shelter, until all but one fire trucks had headed for home and I was packing the remnants of my field kit into the newly empty box that I caught sight of him again. His face was stained black with soot, his shirt was torn. Whatever the prosthetic is, it's metal all the way up to his shoulder. Not thin bones either, curved metal panels following the shape of a human arm. One of the locals was with him, pointing a finger in my direction. “That lady’s been running a medical stand all morning. You should see her, get checked over if you won't go to hospital.”

He looked at me. He couldn't have recognised me, I've been following all the rules from weeks one and two: surveillance training. At least, I had been until today. But we have to have priorities, right? When HYDRA picked me up off the streets they explained how they’re about helping people, about turning the world’s resources towards the greater good. What’s greater good than saving lives, right?

I ducked my head back over my field kit and finished packing it away. When I looked up again, both men had gone.

I know HYDRA assets are dangerous, I’ve been trying to figure this one out. Clearly he’s doing good deeds in return for these people giving him a place to stay, they’re giving him food and gas money, but it still feels like there must be a simpler way. He had already broken into a house, why fill his lungs with smoke to get a bed somewhere else?

I guess my cover is fine as long as he doesn’t see me again, but I need to get off this trail asap. Can you please send someone to take over soon.

****

Agent 76292. It's 05/21/2014 at 1500 hours ish. I need to log a support request. Can I do that through here? I'm at a gas station out by Trinity. That's in Texas. The asset went through here about an hour ago so I'm still on that trail but I'm stuck here because the mission credit card has stopped working? They're saying the account's been frozen. When I signed up for this, they promised me that all expenses were covered while I was on mission and I'm still on mission so what gives?

Is there a support phone number I can call to get it reactivated? I think you need to seriously consider this one way communication thing. If I don't pay with my own money I'm going to lose him, but I'm going to keep all my receipts from now on. I expect you to reimburse me!

Is anyone still listening to these?

*****  
Mission report 05/28/2014, agent 76292 tracking asset 0084.  
He's Polish. Or Ukrainian? Something East European, for certain. His American accent is good, but he's definitely not a local. Today we were in the middle of nowhere, driving past fields and more fields. It's starting to take every ounce of my training to keep this surveillance under the radar - I'm largely having to stay completely out of sight during the day and use the location tracker to follow in the right direction, catching up quietly every time he stops and keeping my bike out of sight.

Anyway, he stopped between towns which is unusual. Normally he drives between these tiny places, and then finds work with the locals or helps out in exchange for a place to sleep. Back after the fire, I don't know where exactly he went - they put me up in the church for the night, refilled all my food supplies from donations - but he didn't leave until the next morning.

Except today. This was a nowhere place, fields as far as the eye could see. No house to trade a space in, no warm fire and hot meal. He had to pull the car up onto the grass of the verge, the driver's side wheels still hanging onto the asphalt in the way of any other vehicle that may choose to pass by.

I didn't even see the workers until I'd pulled my bike over in the hedgerow and used the cover of the maize to get closer. I don't know how he picked them up from the road. It was a whole family, pale and sweating heavily in the summer heat. The men had wrapped their shirts around their heads and necks to keep the sun off there, but they were gathered around a woman lying on the ground. Her face was red, a couple of the men were talking angrily over her head, while a third poured the drops from a Water bottle onto her lips. Two children, couldn't be any more than eight or nine, were crouched by her legs. They had hats folded out of newspaper and tied on with string. Every person there, even the children, had a crate resting beside them half filled with fruit and there were more crates stacked at the ends of the lines.

The asset climbed out of his car. In the summer heat, he's lost the thick jacket he used to wear. Underneath is an odd, single-sleeved shirt. His right arm is thick with muscle, Captain America levels of steroids. It looks like he could easily crush my head between his biceps, and that's without the prosthetic that he uses to pick up cars and reach into burning buildings.

I kept my distance. I don't know what language they were speaking - they don't cover that in basic training - it sounded maybe Russian? German? The first word was "Chesh," or something like it. Then they were talking too quickly for me to follow.

After a minute, the asset returned to his car to find a bottle of water and his discarded jacket. He gave the water to the younger man, then used a handful of sticks and the coat to rig up a rudimentary sunshade.

I watched him all afternoon running in and out of the burning building, I sat under the window while he repaired that old man's barn and it always felt like my job. Tail the asset, track the dangerous HYDRA flagged individual until a recovery team could take over. 

It felt a lot more personal today, less like surveillance and more like stalking. Although I didn't understand what they were saying, as the sun moved they sat back, the woman sat up. One of the crates was pulled in and they offered the Asset the contents. With the whole family brought in, they must be being paid by weight but they kept insisting that he took them, even going as far as to give him a whole crate when he left. The woman had been ill, but the whole family sat with him for over an hour, talking rapid fire in their own tongue. They talked more than him, but he didn't seem in a hurry to leave. He stopped tensing every five seconds, spent less time looking over his shoulder. It was easier than ever to watch him.

And I didn't. It felt - he clearly wasn't going anywhere. I went back to my bike across the road, sat with my head against the engine, turned on my phone to watch the battery light flash and the friendly pop up tell me there was no signal anyway.

I guess I'll be in trouble when the support team arrives. You should get on that.

****

This is Amelia Evans, agent ID 76282 reporting mission failed. Mission failed in accordance with [scrambling through papers] section three, sub section two line one: agent must not be seen or identified by the target.

I was - it was just the two of us, it often is, by this stream. His car was in the car park and I'd brought my bike into the bushes as per protocol and he stared right at my hiding place and said, "why don't you come out?"

He knew I'd been following him, he made it pretty clear that he'd known I was there from day one. He asked why I was in Reva and I said I lived there. He asked if I miss it, and I - it's been a long stake out. I had a job back there, you know? And they've been calling, I had to say it was a family emergency and I didn't know how long it would take and Darren said if they find someone else I should consider not coming back but I stayed out because it's my job, because you told me to but it's been weeks and I'm cold and tired and I don't think any of you are even listening to me!

[pause. Breathe.]

He asked if I was with shield, Hydra or 'that other one, the man on the bridge'. I couldn't remember the protocols, I remember thinking that it wasn’t like I could be more compromised, so I said Hydra and explained that it was my first mission, I was more of a sleeper agent for this short range tracking system. I showed him my tracking computer and he examined it momentarily before saying, "there must be something in the arm. I suppose they keep it super short range so no one else will be able to pick it up on a wide area scanner, and then keep people like you all over the country. It was just unlucky for you that you picked me up."

He said unlucky. I wasn't sure why at the time, but I've been thinking about it since. Replaying the messages from Darren, from my girlfriend who I still haven't called back, looking at the hundreds of miles between me and home and the amount of fuel I can’t afford to get there. I thought I was finally using my training, finally being appreciated but you’ve ignored me for months, I’ve lost my job and spent my savings thinking I was helping save the world and nothing’s come of it, nothing’s happened.

The river flowed. We sat. I had a bag of plums from the last town and I gave him one, he ate it but said they weren't the same as - and then didn't finish that thought.

I asked who he was looking for and he laughed, not in a nice way, looking down at his hands. One silver, one engrained with dirt from weeks of travel. He didn’t answer my question, but asked if I missed home, if I missed my family.

It’s been a long time since I thought of that. Of the little white house with the picket fence, Mom coming home from work still in her fireman’s coat and swinging me up on her shoulders: "guess how many lives your momma saved today little chestnut." When HYDRA first found me on the streets, they said their cause was about saving lives. I wanted to live up to her, I thought I could go straight from the streets to the front line, instead I got a month of training and then abandoned again. I wasn’t pulling people from burning buildings, I was sitting in an old house waiting for a computer to beep. I felt closest to her in Carlton, when I abandoned all my stealth training and focused on actually saving lives. Here. Now.

I said yes, I missed home, but there’s some things you can’t go back to. You can remember them, but you have to move on. Find something new.

“Yeah,” he said. Just Yeah.

When the plums were gone, he asked if I was going to keep following him. I said I have to until someone else comes to find him or tells me to stop, so he offered to put the bike on the back of his truck and give me a ride up in the cab - oh, he has a pick-up now. The farmer in the last town where he pulled the tractor out of the ditch said he could take it if he could get it running. License is Texas JBB7822. I'm out of gas money and you're giving me no word on paying back these receipts so I took the offer. It's not like my mission can be more compromised, if he already knows I'm driving behind him I might as well drive with him, right?

****

It's the end of May, this is agent 76292, with Asset 0084. We stopped driving today just before sunset, the Asset - I asked what I could call him, he said Dmitri, then James, then “..buck?” sounding more confused each time. I said I'd go with James since it was the only one I knew. 

James went out for food. I'm in someone's house, but he checked the mail to make sure they were out of town and used a device from my field kit I'd assumed was a can opener to pick the lock so we wouldn't do any damage.

He doesn't talk a lot, just sits and drives. His movements are very mechanical, with both the robot and the human arm. He flinches at the radio; bursts of static, sharp percussion. I flicked channels to a song with a burst of machine gun sound effects and he almost drove us off the road. I try to make conversation, but his replies are almost always terse single word answers or, “I don't remember.”

The only conversation with slightly more results was when I asked what he'd meant by ‘the man on the bridge’ as an alternative to HYDRA and SHIELD.

"His mother's name was Sarah,” he said, the most words I'd got out of him in days although they meant nothing to me.

I gave him a minute in case he was planning to extrapolate, then said I didn't know who that was either. His frown only deepened. "That's what people used to say: 'oh, you're Sarah's boy.'"

Only he said it sadder than that. Like it was cut right from the heart of him.

Funny thing too, saying that he sounded American again. A proper old school New Yorker like in the movies. Normally it varies, there’s something East European in it or Southeast Asian. Sometimes he speaks English like he learned it as a foreign language, other times like he learned it in England. 

"You knew him when you were kids?" I asked.

He drummed his fingers on the wheel, looked out his side window even though there were no cars, hadn't been any cars for hours, then twitched in a way that could be a shrug, could be a flinch, said "I don't know what I knew."

I don't know if I'm supposed to be getting information out of him. I don't know what information he knows, if anything. When they gave me this tracking kit, they said these were the most dangerous individuals HYDRA had ever been fortunate enough to be able to tag. They said I would be performing a public service in turning their locations over to a retrieval team, getting them off the streets somewhere they wouldn't be able to hurt anyone.

The asset hasn't hurt anyone, that I've seen. We stopped in town tonight, went into the local bar to get information on the area. There was a television on the wall, I haven't seen a TV since leaving home weeks ago. The asset was talking to the bartender so I stopped to watch and they were talking about HYDRA, about three helicarriers covered in weapons that were going to kill hundreds of people. Thousands.

I know there are dangerous people in the world, I know HYDRA was founded to protect and to serve but what they were saying - the helicarriers crashed. In Washington, D.C., they were brought down by Captain America and a team of allies.

And then I pinged the asset, 70 miles south two days later. The asset who was registered as dangerous, but dangerous to who? To innocent people, or to HYDRA?

I'd like to think there's an explanation. If you're listening and you have one, call me.  
If anyone's listening…

***

This is agent 76292. I think it's clear by now that no one is watching for these. The Winter Soldier is a high profile enough asset that if anyone cared to check the reports of a low level nothing agent you'd have sent someone to us by now.

That's right, I found the leaked data online. My program described as 'lost children' kids with no hope and no potential who could easily be indoctrinated to follow HYDRA to death and beyond. Make us grateful for the smallest of mercies and then demand more and more from us in return. I saw what you did to some of the people I met in training, I suppose I should be glad that I was unmemorable enough to slip off the radar.

I saw the pictures of the Winter Soldier. He's a bit skinnier now, he's got a full beard and a trucker's tan on his remaining arm but the resemblance to the photos is still striking. I can see now why you had him listed as dangerous, an assassin and a murderer over a period of seventy years, well guess what? Turns out when you're not around, he doesn't kill anyone. When you're not around, he saved twenty five lives from a fire, fixed up a car and tried to return it to an old lady, gave a young agent from an organisation that kept him mind wiped in cryo for seventy five years a chance to prove that she wasn't like them.

That I'm not like you.

I'm telling you this because I'm fairly sure that nobody's listening. I suppose in the chaos whoever was monitoring my program has hidden or run for the hills. If they were supposed to give us a heads up, they didn't. Easier to abandon the cannon fodder when the ship starts going down, let all our information be leaked online for anyone hunting glory or revenge. Maybe in six months time someone will access the server and realise that HYDRA had the chance to return one of their greatest assets, one of their greatest crimes, and they missed it because they forget about the little people. They forget that we matter.

There's a HYDRA facility here. James jimmied another device from my field kit into an access pass. We went in at night, but we didn't need to. It was abandoned, left to the wolves. Week four of basic training covered how to use a HYDRA base to print off new identification, to create untraceable documents. James has a full face beard by now, he borrows the name of a farmer from a field out in the middle of nowhere and we print him a Polish passport. From there he can get a train elsewhere in Europe, even into Russia.

"Do you think you're from there?" I asked him, sitting across at a metal interview table faking visa stamps on the pages of his passport with a 3D printer and a small sponge of ink.

“Part of me,” he said, the metal arm clinking as he tapped the fingers against the table. “The rest, who knows? I can start there.”

We drove to the port. Flights are quicker, but so many more cameras and people at every gate. He thought the arm would make it through security, but they change the systems so often it's hard to guarantee. It’s two weeks to Europe by boat, but he didn’t seem concerned. He pointedly looked at me in the passenger seat and said it would be nice to have someone else drive him for a change.

He’s been talking more. Slowly building up. I know intellectually that he’s the winter soldier, I’ve seen the pictures, and I know that he’s Bucky Barnes, I’ve seen the internet posts. In person though, he’s neither of those. Particularly since we figured out his way to leave the country, it’s like the past fell off his shoulders. Once he boards the boat, he will be Rahel Nowak, from Pila and James will fall away too.

Then though, while I had him at the port surrounded by families and lovers having tearful goodbyes, I asked him why Josie Peters. On a board full of help wanted ads, why pick the oldest with the least offered in return. 

He said he had been planning to start at the oldest and work up, but then he’d noticed a not-so-secret agent on his tail and had realized he’d better get out of town before bullets started flying. He smiled at me, he smiles now. Not for long, and not quite with his eyes, but maybe he’s getting there.

“So why do it in the first place?” I asked. “Is it about the barter system, needing somewhere to sleep? 

“The records showed a man with my face,” he said. “They said he was a good man. I thought if he was me, then I’d know. It would all come natural, I’d help people and it would feel like second nature, I’d feel complete and all the memories would come rushing back and he could be me.”

“And?” I prompted.

He shook his head.

“But you kept doing it.”

He looked over at the ship behind us, flexed the metal hand under the leather glove. “It’s the right thing.”

The announcer called for all passengers to make their way forward for boarding. We didn’t hug or shake hands or share a teary kiss goodbye like all those around us, but he gave me another of his strange small smiles and a nod of acknowledgement.

He left me the truck, enough fuel to get me to the next town. The folks from Reva have all stopped calling, and I suppose if you ever do find these records that would be the first place you look, anyway. But I know the pattern now. Find a town, do what you can for the people there, move along.

This is how we help people, this is how we change things. One by one, step by step.

This is Milly Evans, officially handing in my resignation. And goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank You lc2l for writing such a fabulous piece! When the mods posted need for pitchitter, after I got to read it, I REALLLLLYYY wanted to get to podfic it!!!! This fic hits soooooooo many of my buttons! (outsider Pov, Bucky to the rescue, recovering Bucky, change of perspective, <3<3<3) Its been a blast! :D  
> To the mods: Thank you for your patience! I missed important question that might've caused trouble for you. This is the fastest I've ever been able to record and edit and done! Thank you for being sooooo helpful and for your patience! You mods are the best!


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